


Adjustment Period

by Loslote



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, stiles gets glasses, teeth rottingly fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loslote/pseuds/Loslote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things Stiles doesn't like about his new glasses, and one thing he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adjustment Period

1

Everyone knew Stiles was clumsy. It was one of the first three facts you learned about him: Stiles talked a lot, Stiles’ best friend was Scott McCall, and Stiles was clumsy. 

It wasn’t even just that he flailed around a lot, either, though he did do that - his control over his limbs was sporadic on a good day. No, Stiles’ clumsiness was a legitimate concern to the health and safety of everyone around him. He was probably going to trip down the next flight of stairs that presented itself. No one was sure why he was on the lacrosse team at all, since he couldn’t catch the ball to save his life, and if by some miracle he managed to get hold of the ball, he was just as likely to throw to an opponent as a teammate. Even when he was just walking down the hallway, chances were good he’d run into at least three classmates before making to his next class.

So, everyone knew about Stiles’ clumsiness. It was practically legendary around Beacon Hills for years. Yet, somehow, it wasn’t until his father walked in on him trying to do his homework with his nose touching the book that anyone thought to check his vision.

It turns out, Stiles became a whole lot less clumsy with glasses.

“Yeah, dude,” Stiles said, walking in a completely straight line down the hallway next to Scott and mildly alarming everyone else as he walked right by them without running into anyone at all, “turns out I have astigmatism, which means the shape of the insides of my eyes are weird and everything just gets super blurry and warped when I take my glasses off and I have basically no depth perception at all, so I have to wear them like, all the time.”

“Do you have contacts? For lacrosse?” Scott asked.

“Technically, yeah, but I don’t want to. It just weirds me out, you know, trying to put them in.”

“Oh. But you shouldn’t be playing with glasses, dude, they’ll get broken in like five seconds.”

“I know,” Stiles groaned. “I’ll have to quit, probably.”

“Sucks,” Isaac chimed in as he caught up with them. Stiles let out a totally manly shriek and flailed right into the path of an oncoming senior from the swim club. Everyone in the hall let out a collective sigh of relief as order was restored to the universe.

“Dude, I thought the glasses were supposed to help with that,” Isaac said as he offered Stiles a hand up.

“They do,” Stiles groaned, “but I have, like, no peripheral vision whatsoever. Derek’ll be able to sneak up on me even easier, the creep. This sucks.”

2

Taking pictures with werewolves was always a hassle. Their eyes flared and completely ruined everything. But the pack was finally in a good place. Scott was settling into his role as alpha; Derek had come back and was much happier as a beta than he’d ever be as an alpha; and everyone was starting to work together on problems instead of panicking and spiraling into a self-imploding mess every time the latest big bad stumbled into town. And Stiles wanted to look back on this point in time fondly. So, they wrangled all the wolves together, had them all close their eyes, and asked Melissa to snap a picture for them.

“Okay, who didn’t close their eyes?” Stiles said angrily when he saw the product.

Erica and Isaac started snickering. Even Derek was having a hard time holding back a smile. “Um, Stiles,” Scott said, grinning like the sunbeam he was, “that one’s all you.”

“Excuse you? Last time I checked, I do not have magic wolfy eyes.”

“Well, no,” Erica gasped, her snickers turning into proper guffaws, “but you do have four-eyes!”

“What?” Stiles did not feel insults cleared anything up, especially not when his humanity was at stake.

“Your glasses, Stiles,” Derek said. “Lens flare, you know. Completely ruins a picture.”

“Goddammit,” Stiles grumbled, pouting. Werewolves were the worst, closely followed by glasses.

3

Stiles didn’t love Lydia anymore.

Well, yes, he loved her, but not like that. He didn’t want to bone her anymore. They were bros. Detective bros. Totally awesome detective bros who got coffee and gossiped about the werewolves in their lives.

Yeah, Stiles hadn’t seen that one coming, either. Still, he was glad they were close enough that when Lydia walked into Starbucks for their weekly gossip session and immediately asked what was wrong.

“I look like a hipster, Lydia,” Stiles said mournfully. “All I need now is a beanie.”

Lydia’s eyes lit up. “I know where to find some.”

“No, Lydia, this is not a good thing! I look like I could be some pretentious intern for, like, Google or something.”

“Where did it stop being a good thing? I’m still seeing this as a good thing.”

“I liked my look before,” Stiles said. “My glasses make me look ridiculous.”

“Stiles, you wear flannel and graphic tees,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “You look ridiculous no matter what. At least ‘hipster’ is a look. Plus, they make your eyes look huge. Like Bambi. That’s definitely a good thing. But hey, I’ll go shopping with you if you want to finally update that wardrobe, go for something a little more fashionable.”

Stiles sighed, resigned. Lydia had that gleam in her eyes that meant she was bound and determined to get what she wanted. “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he groaned.

4

Stiles used to like the rain. The steady drumbeat on the roof always helped him fall asleep. Rain was now the bane of his existence. The drops stuck to his glasses like a car windshield, but unlike a car windshield, his glasses did not come equipped with little wipers. No, they just fogged up and let the drops drip slowly down and completely blurred out the entire world. Plus they dripped right into his eyes. You’d think having glass in front of your eyes would keep them dry. Oh no. The rims were like little funnels, pouring the rain directly into his poor eyes. It almost wasn’t even worth it to wear them on rainy days.

Almost. He could technically still see better than he could without them, but it was a close thing. And since he was currently stumbling through the woods trying to keep up with Derek (they’d been investigating a suspicious deer carcass that had ended up being an actual mountain lion kill - who knew? - and were finally heading home), he definitely needed the depth perception.

“Derek,” Stiles whined, “slow down.”

Derek grumbled, but dropped back to walk with the resident human. 

“This is the worst,” Stiles grumbled. “I hate glasses. I have never been as miserable as I am right now. I’m serious, Derek. Hell is wearing glasses in the rain. No, that’s the punishment they reserve for the worst sinners. You know, people who talk at the theater. The worst scum of the earth.”

“Stiles,” Derek tried.

“Plus, it’s freezing,” Stiles continued. “I don’t know about you, Mister Werewolf Extraordinaire, but some of us get cold when it’s wet out. I’m cold, I’m wet, and I think the dripping is driving me a little crazy. How much longer until we get back to the Jeep?”

“Stiles,” Derek tried again, slightly louder.

“I have everything,” Stiles announced. “I hate trees. I hate rain. I hate deer, and I hate mountain lions who have the nerve to kill deer and then try to blame it on supernatural activity. Most of all, I hate my glasses.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, eyes wide and a little panicked, “calm down!”

“Easy for you to say,” Stiles grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest partially out of annoyance and partially because it really was cold.

“You could ask for the bite if you hate them so much,” Derek offered quietly. “It’d heal you.”

“For one thing, no way,” Stiles said, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “I am not taking the bite because my glasses are inconvenient. That’s the worst reason I’ve ever heard to become a creature of the night. For another, it wouldn’t necessarily. I have astigmatism. My eyes are the wrong shape, not broken, so I don’t know if the bite even would cure it.”

“Oh,” Derek said. Then, “We’re almost there, anyway.”

“Good,” Stiles said. “I’m freezing. Plus, I’m starving. I forgot for a moment that I was hungry because, ew, decomposing deer, but boy have I remembered. I want pizza. Also maybe a burger and definitely curly fries. And - ”

5

Stiles was exhausted. Trekking through the woods would do that to you. They made it back to Derek’s loft just before the pizza was delivered (Stiles convinced Derek to order it while they were making their way back), and Stiles was finally warm, full, and dry, and there was no way he was going back outside while it was still raining.

Derek was already sacked out on the couch, mostly asleep. “Derek,” Stiles tried, reaching out to poke him. “Hey, Derek. Derek, wake up.”

“What?” Derek growled, or tried to. It sounded more like a groan to Stiles. 

“Can I pass out here?”

“Fine, whatever,” Derek mumbled, grabbing Stiles’ arm and pulling the younger boy onto his chest. Stiles beamed. Nap time and cuddles would definitely turn his day around. He curled up on top of Derek and mushed his face into Derek’s chest.

Or, he tried to. His glasses were, once again, in the way. “Goddammit!” Stiles wailed. “I can’t even cuddle with these things! They’re the worst!”

“Stiles,” Derek groaned, “take them off. Put them on the coffee table or something, I don’t know, just go to sleep.”

Stiles pouted, but did so. Derek’s chest was so warm. It was hard to say no to such a comfy chest.

+1

Stiles woke up blinking blearily, trying to figure out where he was when the world insisted on being so damn fuzzy. “Wha?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Shh,” the chest under his cheek rumbled. “S’okay, Stiles, go back to sleep.”

“Nooo,” Stiles said, “I’m awake now. Can’t go back to sleep.” He extracted a hand from where it’d entangled itself in Derek’s sweater (thumb holes, this guy was going to be the death of him) and fumbled for Derek’s face. It was significantly closer than Stiles had thought it would be. He ran his fingers lightly down Derek’s face, catching his lower lip. Derek rumbled again.

“Hey,” Derek murmured. “I need that.”

“Mmm,” Stiles smiled, “yeah you do. Gonna put it to good use?”

Derek inhaled. “Stiles.”

Stiles paused. “That wasn’t a no,” he commented, and pushed himself up on his elbows to move his face closer to Derek’s. He could feel the werewolf’s breath on his face. “Hey there.”

“Stiles,” Derek murmured, voice catching in his throat. He reached over and grabbed Stiles’ glasses. 

“No, leave them,” Stiles murmured.

“I like them,” Derek said softly. “I’d like you to be able to see me.”

“Fine,” Stiles groaned, and slipped them on. He met Derek’s eyes properly this time, and his breath caught in his throat at how intensely Derek was focusing on him. Derek smiled slowly and leaned forward, their lips meeting gently and chastely.

The first time, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, guys - hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
